


Before and After

by Sincestiel



Series: Soulless Sam One Shots [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mentions of noncon fantasy, No Underage Sex, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Soulless Sam Winchester, mentions of underage sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You want me," Sam says, matter of fact and without a hint of emotion, from his spot tied to the little cot in the panic room.  And for a moment, Dean's world crashes, burns at his feet as he stares into his little brother's eyes.  A truth he never wanted to face, laid bare and with such finality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another that's been sitting on my PC for about three years now. This one got away with me and I actually wrote two versions of a similar scenario (Soulless Sam revealing his crush on Dean). Some bits are shared between both stories. The other one is almost finished as well, and you guys might get that one too. Idk yet. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> ETA: I posted the other one. [Some Kind of Okay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7876774). Seriously though. There's non/dubcon.

"You want me," Sam says, matter of fact and without a hint of emotion, from his spot tied to the little cot in the panic room. And for a moment, Dean's world crashes, burns at his feet as he stares into his little brother's eyes. A truth he never wanted to face, laid bare and with such finality.

He struggles to find words, mouth flopping open and then flapping shut several times before he remembers. This is Sam, but not at the same time. Sam: Version Soulless. So he forces himself to calm down. He leans back in his chair, positioned as far from Sam as possible and turns his gaze toward the ceiling, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. He just won't engage the maniac. Best for everyone involved, particularly if Sam might remember this once his soul has been reunited with his body.

"I've seen the looks you give me. And, seriously, I don't know how I never realized it before. Guess it was the soul getting in the way. Morals are real mood killers. I mean, if little Sammy hadn't been all screwed up at the thought of incest, it's highly probable we'd have been fucking for years by now. But my real question is how. I mean, I know what I've always wanted. But how do you want it, Dean?"

Dean takes each word with a grain of salt. Sam is obviously employing some sort of plan to free himself and Dean will not participate. He won't dignify this nonsense with a reply. Sam doesn't want him. Hasn't ever. This Not Sam is just taking little glimpses he's seen of Dean, little insights into just how fucked up Dean really is, and using it to his advantage.

"See, when I was younger, you were the initiator. You would sneak into my room at night, just to cuddle, of course. And then I'd pop a boner and you just wouldn't be able to help yourself. At first it was just handjobs and blowjobs. But I eventually moved on to imagining you pinning me to the bed, splitting me open. Making me come all over myself. Usually did too. Was always a little disappointing when I opened my eyes and I was all alone, my hand covered in cooling jizz."

Sam is watching him; Dean can feel his gaze like it has weight. He's focused on Dean's face, only occasionally flicking down to check out Dean's crotch. And it's difficult to keep his face neutral while fighting off an imminent erection. Because fuck if the thought of little Sammy getting off to fantasies of him isn't the hottest thing he's ever imagined. And he's such a pervert, but he's pretty sure wanting your brother in any sexual capacity at any age makes you a grade A pervert anyway. So this is not news to him. And it's all lies anyway. Sam has seen something in him and latched onto it. It's a game. And, unfortunately, this Sam has a lifetime's worth of memories at his disposal. He can twist and bend them at will, corrupt them however he pleases. It's an arsenal that Dean isn't sure he can stand against.

"Now though, I'm so much bigger than you, Dean. And you're so fucking cocky and arrogant and self-righteous. And all I can think about is tying you down and fucking you until you beg. Before, I wanted you to beg for more. Now I don't much care whether you beg for more or for me to stop. Though, you've wanted me a long time and I think it would take a lot to get you to beg for that. But I'm up for the challenge."

The images that roll through Dean's mind are not new. He's thought of and played out every scenario in his head. So at least there's that; Sam can't possibly take him by surprise with a scene he's never imagined. So he keeps his eyes upward, bites the inside of his cheek, and doesn't say a word. He can handle this. And Bobby will be back to keep watch in an hour or so. He's got this.

"But what is it you want, Dean? Whatever it is, I'll give it to you. Don't even have to untie me. Just take whatever you want. Because, the thing is, I know you're going to put my soul back in me, come hell or high water. And no matter how hard I fight, you'll succeed. It's what you do. And once it's in place, I'll lock all this shit up again. And I'll keep it buried so deep, feel so ashamed for wanting it and so scared that you'll push me away that I'll end up taking it to the grave with me. I don't know if I'll remember this when I get my soul back, but it's the only shot I have at getting the one thing I've always wanted and have never been able to touch. So come on, Dean. What's your poison?"

Dean's finding it harder to breathe now, because what if it's all true? What if Sam has been beating himself up for it? Or even worse, what if he really has been worried about Dean finding out and being disgusted? And god, it's right here, on a silver platter. Everything he's ever wanted. 

But no. It's not. Because this isn't his Sam. And even if it was satisfying physically, it would leave him empty. Try as he might, this Sam can't offer him what he really wants. And though he doesn't say anything, he does drag his eyes downward, needs to look at the man on the cot to remind himself this isn't his Sam.

Not Sam grins when he does, takes it as a small victory and arches his back. His hips lift off the cot and Dean can see the hard outline of his cock where it's straining against his zipper. Whether or not the real Sam wants him, Dean doesn't know. But this Sam does. At least physically. But it's not enough, so Dean uses every ounce of willpower he has and turns his head, studies the wall to his left.

"Oh. I see. You're going to make me drag it out of you. Hmmm…" Sam pauses and Dean can practically hear the gears turning in his head, knows if he looked, he'd see that furrowed brow sitting wrongly on a face that can't show the emotion Sam is so notorious for, "Let's see. Something really tame? Maybe you just want me on my knees for you, mouth hanging open, gagging just for a taste of your cock. That what you want, Dean? Want to slide into my mouth? Come over my tongue?"

And yeah. Okay. Dean wouldn't mind that. At all. But not like this. And it's not all that hard to ignore the flare of want that tries to rise up in his gut.

"Or maybe it's a little dirtier than that. Wanna sit on my face? Let me put my tongue up your ass? Suck at your tight little hole and get you all wet and ready to ride me? Bet you taste so good, Dean. Come on, baby. Let me taste you."

Fuck. He sounds like he really wants it. Like if Dean dropped trou right now and climbed on that cot he would really…

"Come on, Dean. Just let me… whatever you want. Anything you want. Just once."

There's honest to god desperation in his voice, and Dean's head turns of its own volition. It's in his eyes too and god, his hips are pumping, slow and steady. And he's the fucking dirtiest bastard on the planet, because even without the soul, Dean wants it too. He's hard now, having lost the battle with his own body at some point. But it's not really the words that drag him under, it's the raw need in Sam's voice. That, despite the fact that he's begging for something the real Sam would never want, he sounds like himself. Sounds real and tangible and right there. And Dean hasn't felt like Sam is real in a long time. Hasn't felt like he could honesty reach out and touch his brother since he got him back.

He's standing before he realizes it and he moves across the room on autopilot. But the second his shins touch the cot, Sam's face changes. It's subtle, and if Dean didn't know him so well, he wouldn't even notice it. But it's like his mask slips for a second. Just long enough for Dean to see that what's underneath isn't really his brother at all.

Still though, he kneels by the cot, uses the fact that Sam is immobilized to his advantage. Lifting his hand, Dean cards once through Sam's hair – something he hasn't done in years. Sam moans, eyes falling shut, head tilting up to press his lips against Dean's wrist. Dean sighs, enjoys the simple touch for as long as he can trust himself to do so. Then he tightens his hold in Sam's hair and tugs, forcing Sam to look him in the eye.

Sam smirks, and his body rolls sinuously, nothing like anything Dean's ever imagined. And it hits him for the millionth time, Sam is gone. Might be gone forever.

"Kinky. I like it," Not Sam murmurs, not even attempting to fight the hold Dean has on him.

But Dean ignores him and leans in, presses his lips against his brother's – because soul or not, these are Sam's lips – and allows himself a small taste. A soft suck on the full lower lip, a swipe of his tongue just along the seam. And a little whimper when Sam's tongue darts out to meet his, tempting him, trying to draw him in. But then Dean gasps and pulls away. Because no. He doesn't want this to turn into more. He just wanted a little sample, just in case he really does lose his brother forever. There's no way he can keep going never knowing how Sam's mouth feels pressed to his own.

"Reach out and take what you want, Dean. Stop being a pussy," Sam whispers, probably sensing Dean's intentions of walking away.

But Dean just shakes his head, his face still hovering close. He butts his forehead gently against Sam's and says the only thing he's said all night, "You don't have anything I want, Sam. Not right now. I want _you_ the way you were. I want your love and your devotion and your stupid chick flick moments. So once you've got your soul back, if this is still something you want, we can talk. If not, that's okay too. I'll just be happy to have you again, however I can get you."

He knows he's said too much, let this Sam in too deep just now, but maybe his Sam won't even remember. Or maybe he will and he'll find his way to Dean's bed. Any other option is just not something Dean can consider.

With one last peck to Sam's still slightly open lips, Dean stands and steps away, vowing not to touch Sam again until he's whole. 

Sam opens his mouth to say something, but the door squeaks and Bobby steps through. Dean has a mission, probably the most important one of his life. Bobby will keep watch. Keep Sam's body safe and here so they can fix him. So Dean leaves on shaky legs, cock thankfully softening and head a little clearer, focused. Get Sammy back. It's been his goal for a while. But now he's even more determined because he has something he's never had. Hope.

**

It's weird at first. For the most part, for Sam, it's like he tripped and fell over the world's most dangerous hole and landed in Bobby's panic room. And he knows he's lost months of time. Knows his body was walking around without him but he just can't remember anything.

But then it starts coming back to him in little snatches of dreams. And it's hard sometimes, to pick out what's a memory and what's just a typical dream for him. But he's getting it all back, little by little. And he really doesn't like it. At all. And every day he's more and more thankful for his brother's persistence.

His brother. There's another conundrum. Dean looks at him differently now. Like he's waiting for something and continually disappointed when Sam doesn't deliver. Or maybe he's just disappointed in general, because some of the things Sam did… He let his own brother, the person he loves above all others, get turned. He just stood by and watched. Fascinated even. Wanting it to happen not only because it was convenient but because he was curious. It makes him sick when he thinks about all of the people (children even) he allowed to be casualties. And it's like, sometimes they lose people. Sometimes it can't be helped, but you damn sure try. And Sam just didn't. So that's bad. Really bad. But the worst is seeing, over and over again, the betrayal in Dean's eyes after he was turned.

It takes Sam a while to get over that. And he never really manages to, but he's able to push past it. It's like Stanford and the demon blood all over again. He just adds it to his pile of failures and leaves it to be dwelled on later. When he has more time. When the world's not ending, or at least not going to hell really quickly. So, he figures, he'll study them at length in, oh say… a millennia.

But Dean keeps looking at him like that. Keeps staring when he thinks Sam isn't paying attention. And Sam starts to get nervous. Because there are a _lot_ of things he could have said to Dean to upset him. A whole shitload of dirtybadwrong things he could have revealed. But he takes comfort in the fact that Dean doesn't seem repulsed. And surely, if any of _that_ had come to light, he would. Still though… something just isn't right. Not even by their standards, and that's saying a lot.

He corners Dean a few times but doesn't get much more than a shrug of his shoulders. He has no clue what Sam's talking about. Nothing's different. Dean's just keeping a close eye on him. Just making sure he's better. Being a good big brother. And every time he spouts one of those lies (or almost lies, because Sam is sure he really is concerned and watchful due to his recent reensoulment, but that's not all there is, Sam is positive) Sam wants to call him on it. But he doesn't because whatever it is, he'll get to the bottom of it quicker if he doesn't spook Dean. He'll just wait his own head out, until it coughs up the missing puzzle piece.

As it turns out, that happens very slowly. The first thing he remembers about that conversation in the panic room is telling Dean all of his deviant childhood fantasies. He chokes on the bagel he's eating when it happens and Dean's hand comes down on his back to help him 'cough it up' (though Dean has been told time and again that hitting someone's back when they're choking is actually dangerous, it's reflex for him). The touch makes Sam jerk back, suddenly very aware of the fact that Dean knows his biggest secret. Or at least part of it. And he has no doubt that if he told Dean about his crush when he was a kid that he also told Dean how he feels now.

But the revelation only comes as a shock to him, because of course, Dean's had time to process it all. But maybe Dean didn't really believe him. Or maybe Dean has long since put it in his Do Not Think About And Under No Circumstances Ever Discuss box and slammed the lid. And Sam knows that once that happens, it's as good as gone. Which might be a good thing. Except… well, he's always kind of wondered what Dean's reaction would be. Even if he rejected Sam, it might be better than always having it hanging between them.

Sam says nothing though. Doesn't let on that he remembers that at all. He waits. He knows there's more and he just has to give himself time to get there.

When he remembers that he basically admitted to wanting to rape Dean, he ends up over the toilet, heaving up everything he ate for lunch. And Dean's there, hovering just over his shoulder, ready with a cool washcloth the moment he's finished.

How could he have ever threatened Dean like that? Dean who always takes care of him, even when he shouldn't. Even when he should toss Sam out on the side of the road and drive off into the sunset with his baby, he doesn't. Wouldn't ever, no matter what. Sam hates himself more than he ever has. More than he did when he freed Lucifer even. More than he did when he watched helplessly, trapped in his own head, as he beat his brother to within an inch of his life.

Dean notices the change over the next few days and he hovers even more. Constantly asks if Sam's okay, if he needs anything. And Sam wants to scream at him to just leave, to walk out before Sam fucks up yet again. But just like Dean can't leave him, Sam can't ask him to. So he just shakes his head and hopes Dean can read the apology in his eyes.

The rest comes rather quickly after that. He remembers offering to suck Dean off and cringes. Hears himself beg Dean to sit on his face and has to abruptly leave the table in the middle of dinner to hide out in the bathroom for almost an hour. Willing his erection away because he refuses to touch himself. Refuses to jerk off to that particular fantasy with his admission so fresh between them.

But, the most startling revelation occurs in a dream. 

He's pinned to the cot and Dean is advancing on him. And there's nothing murky about this, nothing hazy at the edges like his memories have been until this point. No, this is crystal clear. And he gets a sick sort of satisfaction when he sees Dean's erection just before he kneels beside the cot. It's like both versions of him are watching. The soulless him who just wants to give Dean a little something extra to angst over once he's fucked him over and shoved a possibly damaged beyond repair soul back into him. And this him, who wants nothing more than for Dean to give in because what if it's his only chance?

Dean touches him, and every nerve ending he has sparks, for both versions of himself. And then they kiss. So sweet and sad and longing that Sam, this Sam, the real one, feels himself break just a little. Dean's eyes, bright and shining with unshed tears find his and Sam shivers at the words he breathes against his lips.

_"… I want your love and your devotion and your stupid chick flick moments. So once you've got your soul back, if this is still something you want, we can talk. If not, that's okay too. I'll just be happy to have you again, however I can get you."_

Sam is awake instantly, sitting straight up in his bed with a gasp. This is real. He knows that. It happened. Dean touched him so tenderly, brushed his fingers through his hair like he'd always been aching to do it, kissed him and promised him that he was still loved. In his own Dean way, but still.

Dean's soft, even breathing draws Sam's attention, and he turns his head to watch his brother's sleeping form in the other bed. Dean didn't say… well, he didn't exactly admit to wanting the things Sam wants. But there was no rejection in his voice, not a hint of anger in his eyes. And maybe, just maybe, there had been a little lust there. He'd sure been pretty fucking hard when he'd stood up. And Sam can remember the feel of Dean's trembling fingers tightening in his hair. Something raw and primal leaking into the short kiss. So maybe…

Dean said talk. But Sam knows he's more of an action kind of guy. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission and all that. So Sam takes a page out of Dean's book for once. He screws up every bit of courage he has and slips out of his own bed to pad the short distance to Dean's.

**

Dean is a light sleeper, always has been. And the moment he senses a shift in the air around him, he is awake, though maybe not completely alert. But he sees Sam just lingering there, at the side of his bed. And his sleep addled brain just thinks, nightmare. Because even now Sam isn't above forcibly scooting Dean over and climbing into bed with him. And they both have nightmares worse than they ever did as kids. Because now most of them are firmly rooted in reality. So Dean doesn't even question it. Just moves over so he doesn't get shoved.

"Well get in if you're gonna," he mumbles as he lifts the covers. For a moment Sam just looks at him and something feels different. Monumentally different. But Dean can't put his finger on it, and he squints up at Sam, trying to read anything at all in his expression, because fuck, is this it? Is this the moment Dean's been both dreading and hoping for?

But he can't tell, can't see Sam well enough to get any sort of feel for the situation. And then Sam's climbing into his bed, slotting himself against Dean's side just as he's done so many times before. But he doesn't turn his back, silently asking to be held. Instead, he's turned head on, facing Dean and looking into his eyes from only inches away.

This is it. It has to be. Dean draws in a sharp breath as he drops the covers and tries to steady himself for this. He thinks it's a good sign that Sam is in his bed and not punching his lights out, but he doesn't like to count his chickens before they hatch, so he just waits. Stares into Sam's ridiculously open and vulnerable face and waits for whatever is going to happen.

"You can have me however you want me," Sam finally says, soft and a little hesitant. So much better than the wanton way he'd teased and taunted Dean before he got all souled up again. That was hot, in its own demented way, but this is… this is _right_.

"Doesn't work like that, Sammy," Dean starts, and then has to stop and clear his throat because when the fuck did that lump jump up and try to steal his voice? "We're in this together, or not at all."

Tentatively, he reaches out, intending to rub Sam's shoulder, or hold his wrist, anything to anchor them, ground them in the moment and keep them sane because this is huge. And apparently something they've both been wanting for god knows how long. And Dean doesn't want to lose himself before he knows for certain that Sam can handle this. He doesn't want to take before he knows it's being offered with no shame. But his hand ends up on Sam's neck instead, fingertips sinking into Sam's hair, palm centered over the rapid fire pounding of Sam's pulse. And god that's good. Being able to tell Sam is so affected by this. He'd missed that.

"Together," Sam offers, firmly. And then he's pressing forward, his hands finding Dean's chest and hip and pulling. And then, for the second time, he's tasting Sam's mouth. And it's so much better this time. It's real in a way it wasn't before. Sam isn't trying to force anything, isn't looking to gain the upper hand. He's just kissing, slow and soft and so fucking sweet that Dean aches with it.

Slowly, Dean repositions them, pulls Sam up and over him, lets his legs fall open to cradle Sam's body as his hands cradle Sam's face. Holding them both steady as they each threaten to shake apart, bodies quaking with nerves and excitement. Fuck, Dean hasn't felt like this since the first time he managed to get his hand up a girl's skirt. Everything is new and perfect and breathtaking. Because not only is this a guy above him – hello hard cock instead of soft breasts – it's Sam. _His_ Sammy. 

"So good, Sammy," Dean mumbles into Sam's mouth, encouraging him with little rolls of his hips to push down, give them both some much needed friction, and Sam shudders, a moan punching out of him that rolls over Dean in the most delicious way.

"That's it, come on. Let me feel you, baby," he'll worry about the use of that word later, because Dean is not the 'baby' type (not unless it’s cold metal under his hands anyway), but right now, Sam is fitting their hips together, letting the long curve of his hard dick slip right up against Dean's. And it's perfect, hot and heavy and just a little damp with sweat and pre-come soaking through their pajamas. Just what Dean's always wanted. Proof that this connection they share isn't all in his head.

"God, Dean… wanted for so long. Can't… I'm… fuck," Sam whines as his hips start to piston, rubbing them together through several layers of clothing and Dean could come just like this. Sam's huge body braced over him, his hands buried in Sam's hair, their groins snugged right up against each other. He really could. But that's not what he wants. What he wants is for Sam to… and it's difficult to even think about because it's probably going to hurt like fucking hell. Sam isn't small. Maybe not humungous, but definitely bigger than anything Dean's taken before (one finger, and a tongue – he likes his ladies experienced and adventurous). So it's going to hurt. But Dean still wants with a ferocity that borders on utter need.

"Shh," Dean shushes Sam, one hand slipping down his body to grip his hip, stilling him, "Take it easy. Slow, yeah? Don't wanna blow your load before you even get it in, do you?" 

The sound Sam makes is somewhere between a whimper and a groan and Dean grins into his mouth, "Thought you'd be onboard with that. Wanna fuck me, Sammy?"

Every time Dean uses the nickname, Sam starts a little, shakes a bit harder, makes the sweetest noises. And already Dean knows he'll never call Sam anything other than Sammy when they're like this.

Sam nods, his eyes squeezed shut and his arms quaking as he struggles to hold himself up. And Dean has a better idea. A way they'll both probably enjoy this more.

"Lift up for me, Sammy. Come on. I want you on your back. Gonna ride you."

Sam moves so fast Dean almost laughs. But then he's tugging down his pajamas, letting his fucking beautiful cock spring free and the chuckle dies in Dean's throat. Because holy shit he's never found cocks all that interesting but he wants to touch Sam's so much he's itching for it.

It's long, coming to rest just under his bellybutton, smearing little dribbles of fluid here and there. Flushed and hard and pulsing even as Dean eyes it hungrily. And he's utterly taken aback by that, just how _not_ turned off he is at the thought of licking all those little drops away. Even when he's fantasized about this, he's never put much consideration into that. Tasting Sam. But he wants to. God help him but he does.

And before he can put too much thought into it, he does. Just leans over Sam's body and runs the flat of his tongue across Sam's stomach, feeling the head of Sam's dick rub wetly against his cheek. He tastes bitter and the texture sits heavily on Dean's tongue. The taste is not exactly pleasant, but Sam's reaction is, so Dean definitely thinks it's worth it. Sam has a fucking spasm, his body shuddering and arching, hand coming to rest on the back of Dean's head even as Dean lifts up to wink at him.

And all that tanned, perfect skin. Every little scar a story that Dean knows well. Every injury tended by Dean's hand. This is Sammy. His gorgeous, amazing, sometimes stupid, often courageous to a fault, little brother. And Dean wants him like never before, more than ever because Sam wants him back. He has to have him right the fuck now.

He leaves Sam there on the bed, quivering and watching him through lust blown eyes. Stripping as he goes, he searches through his bag. No lube, but he's got lotion and that'll just have to do. When he stands up, he steps out of his pajamas and turns back to the bed and his breath catches. Sam, bathed in muted moonlight, is positioned in the middle of Dean's bed, one hand sliding lazily up and down his cock as his eyes rake over Dean's naked form. The look Sam shoots him is so much like the look the other Sam gave him across the panic room. But there's some anxiety in this Sam's expression that the other Sam would just never have been able to pull off. He likes this look better.

Dean approaches the bed slowly thoroughly enjoying the way Sam tracks his every movement, seemingly memorizing the way his muscles move under his skin. He feels more bare than he did when he first stripped off, because Sam is looking at him like he can see into Dean's very soul. And Dean, despite how often Sam calls him emotionally stunted, likes the feeling. He likes thinking Sam can see things in him that other people can't. That Sam knows who he really is even if he tries to hide that away.

"Would you get back over here already," Sam huffs, extending his hand toward his brother, and Dean speeds up, finds himself straddling Sam less than a second later.

And only when they're skin to skin for the first time does Dean realize he didn't bring a condom. He's got them stashed away in a side pocket of his duffel, but he just didn't think about it. And now that he is, he knows he doesn't want to use one. Not with Sammy. He knows he's clean and trusts that Sam is too. But who the fuck cares because they have an angel on their side and the last thing Dean needs to worry about is a pesky case of chlamydia. And then Sam is pulling him up and Dean doesn't think about it anymore.

The lotion gets dropped somewhere to Dean's left as he's maneuvered up his brother's body, Sam's strong, callused hands gripping his thighs until he's got one on each side of his head. And holy fucking shit. He's going to… he's really gonna…

"Wanna lick you open, Dean. Just like I said," Sam says, a pretty blush sliding from his neck to his cheeks, but he holds Dean's gaze, silently asking permission. Dean can only nod because fuck yes.

And then he's gripping the headboard, fucking squatting over his little brother's face as Sam's hands spread him open. Somehow this feels wrong on levels that the idea of letting Sam fuck him didn't. But he doesn't have time to consider it, because Sam puffs out a breath over the sensitive flesh of Dean's crack and it's the best thing Dean's ever felt… until half a second later when Sam's tongue chases the air from his lungs.

And god. Okay, he's done this before. But never quite like this. Never practically sitting on someone's face. _Sam's_ face and fuck if that doesn't make it even hotter. And Sam's tongue is just teasing, sliding softly around his hole, fluttering a bit at his opening, but it's perfect, better than anything Dean's ever had. And then Sam really presses, slips just a little ways in and the shock of it causes him to lose his balance.

He falls back some before he can catch himself on the headboard, but Sam lets out a little gasped "Yeah, like that," whispered right into Dean's crack and Dean shudders and pushes down harder on Sam's face before he even thinks about it. But Sam just reaches up, wraps his arms around Dean's thighs and holds him there, guides Dean into a slow rocking motion that has Sam's tongue sliding up and down his crack, _in_ every few strokes. And it's so good. So fucking good.

Sam's making these muffled little noises, fighting for breath every time Dean shifts, but still holding Dean so close. And he sounds like he fucking loves it. Like he's been hungry for Dean's ass for as long as he can remember and now that he's getting it, he never wants to stop.

It's messy and wet. And a little awkward because his balls keep smushing on Sam's forehead. And Dean's pretty sure that Sam's face and his crack are going to be soaked when they're finished. But he doesn't even care, because Sam is getting him ready, opening him up so Dean can ride his pretty fucking cock and god, Dean wants that. Even if it does hurt, he wants it. Needs to be as close to Sam as he can.

Sam's tongue wiggles, and then his lips seal around Dean's hole, sucking softly and then harder when Dean starts to rock more frantically, a groan ripping out of his throat, "Fuck baby. God yes. Suck it, Sammy. Open me up for your cock. God, need…"

Loosening his hold with one hand, Dean reaches down to tangle his fingers in Sam's hair, holds his face snug up into his crack and sits, feeling Sam force his tongue as deep as it will go. And that's it. Dean can't do this anymore or _he's_ going to be the one blowing his load too soon.

He lifts up abruptly, and Sam lifts his head, chasing after Dean's hole like he's nowhere near done feeding on it. He whines and pulls at Dean's thighs, trying to get him back in place but Dean just shakes his head, scrabbling around in the sheets, trying to find the lotion.

"Gotta fuck me, sweetheart, right now," Dean says urgently. He finds the little bottle and holds it up triumphantly, but stops the second he sees the look on Sam's face. Like he's thisclose to crying.

"What…?" Dean asks, but Sam just shakes his head and takes the bottle out of Dean's hand.

Dean wants to push, find out what's wrong, but then Sam's fingers are slick and nudging at his entrance, one long arm snaked between his legs. And all he can do is whine as two slip into him, slow and steady. Then he can't breathe, because it's horribly uncomfortable but also good. Good because it's Sam and good because it just _feels_ good. Burns and stretches just right.

Sam works his fingers in and out a couple times before he uses his free hand to pull Dean over and fit their mouths together. Sam's tongue is licking at his palate before the thought that it was just in his ass flits across his mind. And he can taste himself there, musky and maybe a little dirty, but then Sam nips at his bottom lip before diving in, heat and lust spiking between them sharply. And Dean just doesn't care that it might be unsanitary.

When they part, Sam has already worked in another finger and his eyes are glassier, so close to shedding tears. But he smiles, turns his head and whispers into Dean's ear, "Love it when you call me that. Haven't in years, Dean."

It takes a minute for his mind to trace back and work it out, but when he does, he smirks. Leverage. Something to really work with. Gain the upper hand.

"Yeah?" Dean pants, twisting his head so that this lips brush Sam's ear, "Like it when I call you sweetheart?" Sam nods, crooking his finger just a bit and Dean's breath catches. 

So this is how they're going to play it? Game on.

"Baby?" He says, letting it roll filthy off his tongue as he uses the hand not propping himself up to rub down Sam's chest, flicking a nipple gently once for good measure.

Sam groans, and Dean can feel the answering smirk pressed into the side of his face when Sam's wrist turns – fingers still crooked just a bit – and holy mother of god how could he ever have thought this would hurt too much? Because that spot Sam is working? Dean's pretty sure it's some sort of gateway to heaven.

But he can't be outdone. He fights through the haze of pleasure and runs his tongue up the outside of Sam's ear just before he grunts, " _Sammy_ ," and closes his hand over the head of Sam's dick, sliding down and back up very quickly. 

Sam keens and bucks up so hard he almost slings Dean off his hips onto the floor. And Dean just chuckles and moves his hand again, jacking Sam slow and soft. Not enough to get him off, but enough to make him bite into his lower lip and squirm.

"Now, Dean. Please," Sam says in a rush, pulling his fingers free and getting a grip on Dean's waist, helping get him in position.

Dean doesn't let himself stop and think. About any of it. About how it's his brother under him. Or how he's about to take a cock for the first time. About how he hopes it won't be the last. He doesn't think about that other Sam or anything that's ever put itself between them. None of it matters. Because this is _his_ Sammy. And Dean loves him more than life itself. And maybe, just maybe, he's lucky enough and Sam feels the same way.

So he leans up, reaches behind himself and gets a firm hold on the base of Sam's dick. And then he just sinks down. All of his air leaves him in a gush, as if there's not enough room for his breath and Sam's cock in him at the same time.

"Fuck," Sam grits, eyes screwed shut and hands gripping bruises into Dean's flesh, "So tight, Dean. Feel so good. Slow, god please, slow."

And that is not going to be a problem. At least for a few minutes because holy fuck it hurts. He lifts up excruciatingly slowly and thinks about how he’ll feel this for days to come, the ache and burn of Sam’s cock. The thought isn’t wholly unpleasant.

Sam shivers under him, a tiny whimper escaping his lips and then fingers are biting into Dean’s hips. Not pushing or pulling, just holding on, anchoring himself. Dean is staring resolutely at the wall because if he sees Sam right now, he might just lose it. He’s always liked riding that knife’s edge between pleasure and pain anyway and it’s _Sammy_ under him, inside of him, filling him so full and he just can’t process it. 

“Dean, please,” Sam’s voice wavers slightly, begging for something and Dean realizes he’s stopped moving, sank back down on Sam’s cock and is just clinching, holding them together.

“Shit, sorry,” he breathes, trying to lift up again, but Sam doesn’t let him, just clings to his hips and keeps him still.

“Look at me. Please. I need…”

Dean groans, hopes looking down into his brother’s face won’t be his undoing. Seriously, he’d hate to fuck this up the first time around. Sam will think he doesn’t have any stamina or something and he might not ever want to do this again and that just isn’t something he can even think about.

“Dean,” Sam huffs out again, urgent and Dean tears his eyes away from the dingy wallpaper and oh. Wow. Godfuckingdamn. Sam is… well, he just is. He’s real. And he’s beautiful. And he’s all Dean’s. He’s also crying. Not, uncontrollably though. Just gentle drops falling off the sides of his face and Dean gets the pressing desire to lean over and lick them away. 

“What…?” Dean starts, pulling his hands from Sam’s overheated flesh to thumb the salty drops away, but Sam shakes his head, reaches up to grip Dean’s hands and twine their fingers together. Sam raises their arms up over his head and brings Dean down. 

One soft kiss, gentle press of tongue, and Sam says, “It’s okay. It’s good. So fucking good, Dean. Just move. Please.”

And suddenly everything shifts. This isn’t fucking. It isn’t even what most people would consider making love. It’s something else entirely. Something soul shattering. Earth moving. All those clichés that Dean instantly understands.

Dean’s hips rise and fall, his lips brushing over Sam’s, sharing every breath, passing moan and groans between them, clinging to each other like they might fall apart otherwise.

He’s not sure how long it lasts. It could be minutes or hours. But slowly he realizes their bodies are slipping and sliding in the sweat pooling between them and then Sam’s hand is easing in as well, finding Dean’s length – that hasn’t flagged in the slightest – and rubbing, determined. And all this time his eyes haven’t left his brother’s, and Sam is still crying softly. Another Dean, another time, would have made fun of him for that. But this Dean, right here, right now, he understands. Feels it too.

This is wrong, Dean thinks, a gasp escaping him as Sam’s hand and his thrusts speed up, but also so very right. But it doesn’t matter either way. Not really. He’s never let wrong or right stop him from being whatever Sammy needs. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for Sam and morality, never figures into the equation.

Sam’s hips stutter, his breath goes even more ragged, and Dean clamps down with gentle pressure on the side of Sam’s neck, teeth sinking in just the to point of being too much and it’s over. Sam grunts, comes hard and fast, and Dean feels the pulse of his cock, rhythmic and soothing and also so goddamn hot he whimpers. And even in the throes of orgasm, Sam huffs out a small laugh before somehow having enough wits to consider Dean’s pleasure. Then Sam is pumping him in earnest, twisting his wrist just right and bringing Dean along for the ride.

Wave after wave of heat washes over him causing him to arch and bow over Sam’s sweat slick body and he’s still twitching, thrumming with post orgasmic bliss long after Sam’s breathing has returned to normal. But they don’t move. Neither of them. Sam’s hand is still sandwiched between them and his cock is wilting and slipping slowly out. Dean’s teeth still hold that little bit of skin in the juncture of Sam’s neck and shoulder. The rise and fall of their bodies as the take in needed oxygen is the only movement they allow themselves.

Dean isn’t even really sure why it seems so important to wait, to let Sam set the tone for the beginning of the After. And that’s how his mind processes it now that he has time to actually think about it. His life will forever be divided between the Before and the After. Before he and Sam had sex and After. Before he knew what it felt like to have Sam buried to the hilt in his willing body and After. He just hopes it doesn’t become Before he and Sam fucked everything up and After. Because Sam still isn’t talking. Or moving. And his free hand is still gripping Dean’s asscheek where it someone how ended up mid orgasm. And Dean is still biting. And everything is so still.

But then it’s not. Sam turns his head, presses the sweetest kiss to Dean’s temple, effectively pulling himself free from the grip of Dean’s mouth. And it’s like he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking. Probably does, because as much as Dean likes to kid himself, he knows Sam knows him just as well as he knows Sam.

“Not a mistake. Not even close. And I’m sorry, god, I’m so...” Sam’s voice breaks slightly, quivers and fades out, and Dean turns his head a bit, lets Sam feel the shape of his mouth against his jaw, gentle reassurance. Sam starts again, “I never wanted it to come out like it did. Not so. So… It should have been… Not like that.”

And Sam, who always seems to have the words, is failed by his Stanford vocabulary. Despite the desperation Dean can hear in his voice, he finds it very endearing. And promising. Because Sam isn’t saying it shouldn’t have happened.

“But would you have said anything otherwise? Because I know I wouldn’t have.” Dean whispers into Sam’s stubble, just resisting the urge to start nibbling again. And that’s fucking weird because he’s never really been a biter. But for some reason he just wants to consume Sammy. And while he doesn’t actually want to go cannibal, biting seems like the best way to lay claim to his little brother.

“God no,” Sam huffs out, his arm sliding up Dean’s body to wrap around the small of his back. Holding him closer, like he’s scared this will all turn out to be a dream and Dean will disappear. “I never would have said a word. Never would have… _done_ anything. I thought…”

Sam doesn’t have to finish because Dean knows exactly what he thought. _Wrong. Weird. Fucked up. Sinful._ He’s been playing that loop in his head for years where Sam is concerned. But not anymore. Not now that he knows Sam wants this too. Because what Sammy wants, Sammy gets. And Dean is more than happy to oblige his whims when it’s so very enjoyable.

And that’s enough talking, Dean decides. He lifts up, freeing Sam’s arm and almost laughs at the look of relief that passes over Sam’s face. But then he sees, just under that, all the love and devotion he’s always craved from his little brother. Everything Sam has worked so hard to conceal out of fear that Dean would see the depth of it all. And it knocks the wind out of him.

Dean’s hands slide up Sam’s body, watching as all that lean torso arches and twists slightly to expose as much of Sam to Dean’s touch as possible. _Next time,_ Dean thinks, _Next time they go slow._ Next time, Dean is going to wring every ounce of pleasure there is to be had out of this body.

Sam shivers, like he knows just what Dean is planning and Dean smiles, only half wicked because part of him is still in awe of the need written all over Sammy’s face. The utter love.

Dean kisses him then. Leans down and presses their mouths together. His tongue plays against the seam of Sam’s mouth but pulls back before Sam can let him in.

“Come on,” Dean says, fully disengaging from Sam’s lips and levering himself off the bed, “Shower.”

Dean winces at the slick feel between his cheeks as he stands and he rolls his eyes when Sam barks out a laugh. And so easily Dean slips back into taunting big brother mode.

“Sam Winchester cries his way through sex,” Dean says, but there’s no real malice in his words and when he catches Sam’s eye Sam just shakes his head, grinning in exasperation. But he doesn’t comment on the state of Dean’s thighs and ass and the come slowly leaky down both. So Dean counts it as a win.

At the bathroom door, Dean looks back over his shoulder to find Sam still watching him from the bed, complete adoration softening his features more than usual and Dean smiles and tilts his head toward the tub. “You comin’?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, lifting himself up and squirming to the edge of the bed, “I’m coming.”

And he does. Over and over again. 

And Dean isn’t sure of much. Never has been. He doesn’t know what’s on the horizon for them or how they’ll deal with the storm brewing around them. But, for the first time in his life, he knows exactly where he stands with Sam and he likes it.

That’s good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you want the other one? It actually contains non/dubcon. I'm not sure if anyone cares to sit through another 8,000 words of a similar (even identical in some places) fic.


End file.
